


Don't Rush

by LinguistLove_24



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M, Healthy Relationships, Romantic Fluff, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 13:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/LinguistLove_24
Summary: Their time together was always preciousSoS years.RE-POST





	Don't Rush

**Don't Rush**

 

 

The neon numbers of the alarm clock flashed half twelve in the afternoon, and Bill rubbed his eyes, doing a double-take. It was not a hallucination, they'd really slept that long. Ages had passed since they'd been permitted to. He didn't feel badly for it – As Secretary of State his wife's schedule rarely coincided with his – they often missed each other, her departing upon his return or vice versa. Continents rather than miles separated them more than half the time, making it difficult to communicate as much as they wanted, but of all trials and tribulations within their relationship these proved to be small ones. They found workarounds wherever they possibly could.

 

 

“Coffee, honey?”

 

 

Only upon hearing the question, laced with gruffness from having slept long and undoubtedly deeply, did he realise that Hillary hadn't been on her side of the bed. Rarely did she rise before him if it wasn't required of her, but he appreciated the offer of hot, liquid sanity she extended. Encircling the base of the mug with his deft fingers, he let it warm his hands before taking tentative sips, smiled up at her in gratitude.

 

 

“You look nice.”

 

 

She rolled her eyes, sticking tongue playfully through teeth as she watched his eyes wander appreciatively over her body. Sans pants, modesty provided only by the length of an oversize shirt belonging to him, she knew he was definitely wishing he witnessed her this out of character more often. Though something she didn't frequently verbalise, she secretly loved it – loved that one look could make her feel twenty years younger, heart swelling twice its size, and wished all her Sundays could be as slow and gloriously lazy as this one.

 

 

“Do I? I wasn't trying to.” As she bent to place a chaste kiss over his mouth, he set his mug atop the night table adjacent his side of the bed, used his freed hand to pull her to him, let it roam the bare skin of her buttocks, graze the small of her back as it became hidden by the light fabric of his old shirt.

 

“Oh, sure you weren't.” He pulled back, his eyes dancing with mischief. Want filled his body, ran through his veins quick and pulsating like wildfire as the thought of ripping apart the fabric prohibiting the full and complete contact of their skin ran across his mind again and again. He couldn't allow himself to act on carnal thoughts, had to exercise self restraint so as not to waste away the remainder of the day. This was all they had together. Six tomorrow morning would have her up before the birds, see them separated again. Memories were all they had for sustenance during unbearable stretches. No exception to other days or hours together, he intended to create some – even more so for her than for himself.

 

 

“I'm gonna take a shower. You can come if you want to.”

 

She winked suggestively, surprised, slightly crestfallen even, when he met her gaze poker faced.

 

 

“You go,” he told her flatly, hoping to hell he came across as intended, that she'd telepathically pick up on his thought process, know that restraining himself was the last thing he wanted to do, but was for the greater good.

 

“Okay,” she said, equally flat, avoiding eye contact and making to exit for the en suite bathroom.

 

 

“Pick something nice to put on when you come out,” he called after her.

 

 

She would understand later. Patience was a virtue, sometimes one he was very, very bad at practising.

 

 

///

 

 

“I wish you'd tell me where we're going.” She glanced at the reflection waiting for her in the mirror, made to clasp the chain of white gold and bejewelled with diamonds round her neck. Wanting an excuse to be in closer proximity, he strode forward; One shade of blue locked with another, orbs belonging to the feminine body giving wordless permission, knowing intuitively what he wanted. Shaking, his fingers fiddled with the clasp for fleeting seconds before pinching and joining the two ends together.

 

 

“You'll find out soon enough,” he said gently, breath catching in his throat witnessing her full reflection. She was totally done up, adorned an exquisite black evening dress that fell just to her kneecaps. It hung modestly in the places she felt needed modesty, affording coverage of self-professed flaws, while still doing wonders for areas more benefited from accentuation. She was aware of her figure, how best to conceal or highlight every inch. The job of First Lady and the endless scrutiny attached it had no doubt caused her to become more attuned to her physicality, sharpened her eye for detail. Sometimes he saw this acquired ability manifest itself negatively as she aged, became more critical of her changing outsides. In these instances, he did his best to squash her insecurity, reassure her that though she had and would continue to change, his view of her would not. Usually, this made her begin again to see herself and her keen eyes in positive light.

 

“You ready? I just need my shoes.” The perfume bottle she clutched in her right hand was sprayed a few more times, sent a light, fresh, heavenly mist into the air, droplets falling onto and coating exposed areas of skin.

 

“These ones?” He bent and picked up the strappy three inch pumps resting atop each other against a wall, hooking his thumbs into the backs.

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

She had abandoned the perfume for a hairbrush, sat straight backed and cross footed running it meticulously through long, wavy blonde locks, knots giving way to sheen and smoothness.

 

 

“I love your hair long.” There was a hoarseness to the way he said it, almost as if emotion long held was finally spilling over. Knowing him, whom and how he was, it wouldn't surprise her if that was exactly what was happening.

 

 

“I know.” One corner of her mouth lifted into a smirk, eyes glistening with nothing short of adoration for him.

 

 

“Leave it that way. At least for a while.” The statement was a plea rather than a demand.

 

 

“I plan to.” Turning sideways, she uncrossed her feet, made to reach in attempt to retrieve the heels he was still holding. Rather than give them to her, he pushed off the spot he'd taken up on the storage bench at the foot of the bed and knelt comfortably in front of her.

 

 

“May I?”

 

Lips pursed, she nodded lightly.

 

 

Undoing the thin, delicate buckle of the left shoe, he took the corresponding foot into his lap first, sliding footwear gently underneath, eyes flickering over flesh, veins and toes before doing the job of refastening. After repeating all actions on the right, she slid her heel clad feet back under her chair, crossing them again.

 

 

“You have great feet.”

 

 

Pushing off his knees, he stood as a deep, genuine guffaw escaped her.

 

 

“Bill, really? That's a bit much. Feet are feet, pretty universal.”

 

 

“I'm serious,” he said, looking at her. “Feet are not universal. Yours are great.”

 

 

“Okay,” she conceded sarcastically, eyes rolling slightly. “Thank you...I think.”

 

 

She extended a hand and he took it, helping her to her feet, holding her at arms length to ravish her again before pulling her close to his chest, feeling the heat of her flesh radiate onto him through her clothes.

 

 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered into her ear. Hot, sweet breath blew across her lobe. She felt his lips on her skin as he touched down on a bit of exposed shoulder.

 

 

“Are you ready, sir?” The voice of one of their long time Secret Service agents dampened the intimacy of the moment and caused them to jump apart. They'd nothing to feel guilty for, no shame had been witnessed. It was an innocent moment, but a weighty one. So many they shared often were.

 

“You bet.” Smiling warmly at the two of them in turn, he motioned with a slight tilt of the chin for his wife to walk ahead of him, falling into step beside her before reaching the foyer, hand both a gentle and assuring presence at the small of her back.

 

 

Their agent took it upon himself to retrieve their respective outerwear from the front closet, passing Bill's along and courteously aiding Hillary into hers.

 

 

“Let's roll,” he said enthusiastically.

 

 

///

 

 

They rode in silence for a while, whir of the tires just underfoot a monotonous but comforting backdrop. She'd still not been able to coax out of him where he was taking her. They'd engaged in low spoken but good natured banter over it for the first ten minutes of the voyage. She'd attempted to barter with him, promise of favours whose mere mention were enough to make his imagination run wild. None of it had done any good, however, and the only thing that had become evident to her was the amount of restraint and secrecy he could hold himself to when he really wanted to.

 

 

“Come here to me,” he commanded softly, but with authority.

 

 

She obliged, unquestioningly sidling closer to him so the outermost parts of their thighs were almost touching. He motioned for her to stretch out, body positioned at a ninety, facing him, and swiftly pulled her feet into his lap.

 

 

“Do you have some new fetish I'm unaware of, Mr. President?” He choked back a laugh as he toyed with the buckles on her shoes, loosening them.

 

 

“Would it be problematic for you if I did, Madam Secretary?” Pink of tongue was visible through teeth as he smiled playfully at her.

 

 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that at the present time.” A flash of devilishness danced across her features, and it was not lost on him.

 

 

“Right,” he said, not even trying to stifle the hearty laugh fighting to escape him.

 

 

The thud of her heels hitting the carpeted interior of the car one by one brought her back to attention.

 

 

“You planning on making me walk out of this car barefooted?”

 

 

“Take that tone again and you'll soon find out what else I'll make you go without, my dear.” He winked teasingly and watched contented as she threw her head back and allowed herself to be consumed by genuine fits of laughter. These raw, carefree moments were few and far between since her acceptance of the job of Secretary. So many painted her as cold, hard, calculating – he saw what they rarely did, and she was anything but. “We'll be a while yet. There'll be ample time to put those gems back on your feet.”

 

 

“They look better than they feel,” she said dryly. “I'm honestly not missing them.”

 

 

She flexed her toes, feeling the tension leave all the places she hadn't known it to be resting. “You're tense,” he observed as he began the slow, meticulous massage of her feet.

 

 

“I'm always tense,” she dead panned. “I'm a former First Lady and a presiding Secretary of State. Tense comes with the territory, no?”

 

 

“Definitely, but as your husband, I'll always wish I could absolve you of it.”

 

 

“That's sweet, but we both know there are certain things each of us has to shoulder separately. Wishing does not always make it so.”

 

 

“I know.” He did. More deeply than he thought possible. He'd wished beyond all wishes in the nineties. Again and again prayed for forgiveness, second chances, do overs. Never did he think hard enough wishing would grant such to him, but it had done. She'd been gracious enough, strong enough to forgive him. Help him and rebuild with him. He'd never stopped being grateful to her for that or trying to make it up to her.

 

 

 

“Hmm, that feels nice.” Voice low and gravelly, eyes fluttering, she looked as if she were dangled between realms of full and semi consciousness. He wondered for a minute if she would fall asleep before they stopped. He wouldn't chastise her in the least if she did. Smiling to himself over her declaration, he continued the gentle, methodical assault of her feet.

 

 

“Your fingers are gifted, my darling.” She opened her eyes, smirked as she took in his face.

 

 

“So I've been told. It's by far my favourite compliment.”

 

 

Comfortable silence enveloped them again until the turbulence of a speed bump jolted the two of them. She sat upright, shuffling herself so the whole of her anatomy was cradled in his lap, feet dangling over his long limbs.

 

 

They saw the partition between themselves and the Service slide slowly down, exposing one party to the other.

 

 

“Are you two all right?” Genuine concern entwined in the question, they both smiled. “Sorry about the bump. Couldn't be avoided.”

 

 

“No problem,” Bill answered easily.   
  
“We're fine,” Hillary finished for him. The agent not driving but riding alongside, gave a thumbs up before pressing the button to return the partition to rightful position.

 

 

“I'm sorry for the long drive.” He was genuinely apologetic. “It's a bit out of the way.”

 

 

“Don't apologise,” she murmured gently, repositioning herself in his lap, snuggling her face into the side of his neck and catching a deep, hypnotic whiff of his cologne.

 

 

“You smell nice.” The soft declaration was one she bestowed upon him often, but not one he ever tired of hearing. Whenever they had any substantial amount of time together, he wore only one brand - her infatuation with it the only reason for his efforts.

 

“Thank you. You, too.” He made a point of intentionally nipping at the side of her neck, getting close enough to take in the scent of the long absorbed mist she had sprayed there.

 

 

 

“Don't you be marking me, now,” she chuckled lightly, nipping playfully at his ear.

 

 

“You should know I save that for places visible to my eyes only.”

 

 

“You're so bad,” she laughed, swatting him.  
  
  
“Guilty.” He raised a hand, winking, relishing in the sound of her laughter for the umpteenth time that night.

 

 

///  
  
  
  


“Behave,” There was a signal of warning in her tone as his hand, hidden loosely by the fabric of her gown, slowly snaked inches higher up the inside of her thigh. Total darkness had fallen, affording no clues to their destination as they got closer. Light snow fell, blanketing the ground in thick, sporadic flakes of crisp whiteness.

 

 

“Do I have to?” He turned his mouth downward into a mock frown.

 

 

“Oh, don't pout, it's not a good look,” she told him as she feigned consternation.

 

 

“You love it. You'd never admit to it, though.”

 

 

Covering his roaming hand with her own, she stilled his touch from moving higher still, laced her fingers through his before bringing their joined palms to her left breast bone, allowing them to rest gently across her rhythmic, beating heart.

 

 

“Shut up,” she giggled, snorting involuntarily, eliciting a rolling, belly guffaw from him, too.

 

 

///

 

“Where _are_ we?” For someone so worldly, she honestly hadn't the faintest clue. They'd pulled into what seemed an extremely secluded area with a long stretch of drive. Coming to its end garnered a whole different reaction, her breath catching audibly in her throat, guard falling.

 

 

Sitting rustic and nondescript, was a quaint log cabin, bulbs alight inside, glare reflecting off the windowpanes. Even without bearing witness to the inside, she didn't doubt this wasn't even close to the totality of its magic.

 

 

“Well, dear, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore.” He shrugged her gently and effortlessly from his lap, bending down to pick up her abandoned heels, catching out of the corner of his eyes the twinkle in her own at his light reference to one of her favourite movies.

 

 

“Apparently we're not in Chappaqua either,” she retorted laughingly. Sliding hastily into the confines of the shoes her husband had placed at her feet, she readied herself to rise once they pulled to a stop, excitement at what lay ahead bubbling slowly within.

 

 

///

 

“This is gorgeous,” she breathed, eyes darting frantically around in attempt to see everything at once. “You did this?”

 

 

“Mm.” He nodded. “Booked it a while ago. Was easy enough to arrange with you being away so much.”

 

 

She hadn't counted precisely or meticulously how long they'd driven, paid attention to how far out they were – she hadn't much cared – his presence was enough to occupy her mind. The time they had together was always precious, but she was utterly dumbfounded that he'd been able to pull this over on her, keep it secret, that some place that embodied this gorgeous kind of simplicity existed mere hours out of range of their everyday lives.

 

 

Unbuttoning her coat, she peeled it off, draping it over the back of what looked to be a handmade wooden chair with hearts carved into the top. One on the opposing side matched it. The table around which they were situated was pre set with china and cutlery, expensive wine chilling in an ice bucket. Its make was of the same type of solid wood, had been coated in the same dark shade of stain. It definitely wasn't newly finished, but something within the confines of the space could have been, because she swore she detected the unmistakable waft of varnish hitting her nostrils. Most people disliked strong, distinct odours as such – weirdly, she'd always loved things others around her hadn't – gasoline and varnish being on the short list.

 

 

An electric fireplace sat in one corner, last session of usage unknown, but looking like total hours in operation had been light or few and far between. The smallest of remote controls lay atop it, two buttons, one to determine temperature, the other the look of the picturesque faux fire burning.

 

 

She moved toward it, steps light and tentative, marvelling still at everything surrounding her she'd yet to take in. The light she'd seen glinting off the surface of the windows from outside emanated from a single large hanging chandelier. Flecks from its bulbs bounced off every possible surface, creating shadows, glows and glares like she'd never seen. It amazed her how her husband, who'd been at her side nearly stride for stride for such a length of time, still had an uncanny ability to surprise her, scout out things someone as well read and travelled as she hadn't witnessed, could revel in, be fascinated by. Their life together was comfortable, but never was it boring.

 

 

“Wine, babe?” His voice was low, gentle. He'd come up behind her stealthily, undetected, and she jumped a touch, electricity radiating through her shoulder and down her arm when he clasped it with his free hand. “I didn't mean to startle you,” he apologised, noticing her flinch.

 

 

“It's fine, and yes, please.” A permanent grin had plastered itself on her face. He came around to face her, handed her a delicate, empty glass. A process was made of uncorking the bottle, and as always with these kinds of actions, she was automatically drawn to his hands, reminded of her love for his fingers. Though they both continued to age – not so gracefully, as was the loudly vocalised stance of critics everywhere – her love for him always felt new, freshly welling up inside and attempting relentlessly to push its way outside the confines of her chest, to become something tangible she could hold in and of its own right when she pondered it at length or in depth.

 

 

The faint pop of cork and glug of liquid hitting glass pulled her away from his hands, to his face, then his eyes, and eventually, again to the glass. She watched the amber liquid stream downward and settle, its chill penetrating the confines of the goblet to find home on the inside of her palms. Sipping silently, she appreciated the thickness that coated her throat, the sensation warming her insides more and more with each mouthful.

 

 

“Are you hungry?” He sounded far away, distorted. She realised he was standing in the middle of the small but entirely functional adjacent kitchen, one of many parts of this little slice of heaven that had escaped her. She moved to where he stood.

 

 

“Famished, actually.”

 

 

“They stocked us pretty well for the hours we're here.”

 

 

He'd informed her they could stay over night were they so inclined, but she thought better of the notion, tempting though it was. She flew to Berlin grossly early the next morning where a meeting would convene with several world dignitaries, and though she'd become a skilled professional at thriving as her best self on little sleep, she wanted to get as much of it as possible in her own bed. Flexible she may prove to be, but age had her becoming set in her ways in some fundamental respects.

 

 

She let out a lengthy whistle when she saw the contents of the double sided fridge-freezer. Bill was standing, both sides pulled wide, a door handle clasped tightly in each hand, taking inventory with his eyes. She didn't see the need for such an abundance of food across such a short stay, but excitement of the moment they found themselves standing in won out over her ever present practicality. Everything bordering on savagely unhealthy that she could think of craving seemed to line the width of shelves. Pre-made platters of cold cuts and fatty cheeses, varied loaves of bread, (some of which she'd never tried) devilled eggs sitting neatly spaced atop oval shaped plates, cellophane wrap sealing in their freshness. This was a minuscule portion of the smorgasbord.

 

 

The freezer side was clad with even worse; at least three cheesecakes, five different ice cream flavours, more varieties of pizza than she was aware were in existence, packages of bacon, hash browns, packages she couldn't identify at all lined the back.

 

 

“Ya think?! This could feed two families!”

 

 

“Right?”

 

 

“What do you feel like? Most of what I could intake didn't quite scream 'vegan' at me, but I'm sure there's stuff I didn't see.”

 

“I'll figure it out. What do you want? I'll make it. You relax.”

 

“Honey, I'm not helpless.”

 

 

“Well, I know that, darlin'. I'm trying to pamper you is all.”

 

 

“You're such a _sap._ ” 

 

 

“Don't go tellin' nobody.” He winked, shooing her from the kitchen quarters and setting to work.

 

 

///

 

They were both sedentary, clad in little more than bra, panties and briefs watching the image of faux flames as if it had some hypnotic hold over them. They'd become so acclimated to the dry heat blowing from the grate, they'd stopped sweating hours previously. As much as thoughts of such acts had skittered across his mind on the ride over, they'd not made love. He hadn't pushed for it or even brought it up. Sitting in deep conversation and intermittent bouts of companionable silence, over indulging in platters upon platters of food, all of it melded together into something he hadn't realised he'd missed so immensely and was more than enough.

 

 

///

 

 

 

_“I missed you,” he'd told her emphatically._

 

 

_“And I you.”_

 

 

_“As proud as I am of you for taking on the Sec State job, as much as I want you to do what you feel good about, I'd be lying if I said I'm not gonna be ecstatic whenever it is that this particular chapter is over.”_

 

 

_She popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and he watched her face, laughing at her change in expression upon biting down, the flow of tart juices exploding around the inside of her mouth and catching her off guard._

 

_“Me too,” she said thickly, swallowing. “I took the job because Obama asked it of me, and it has grown on me, slowly, steadily, but I miss you. It's draining.”_

 

 

_“I know honey. But you don't often show it. You work tirelessly. I know the general population has become very good at placing focus on your failures, but I will always advocate for and be beyond proud of all the successes you've managed.”_

 

 

_“Is it hard work being that cute?” She chuckled. “Thank you, honey. I love you.”_

 

 

_“Love you.” Leaning in to find her mouth, he kissed her chastely, grazing her bottom lip with his teeth before breaking away._

 

 

_“It's hot,” she'd stated, meaning to come across no particular way._

 

 

_“Yeah, leave the room why don't ya? It'll cool down then.”_

 

 

_A snort escaped her and he felt her hand make forceful contact with his bicep. “Idiot.”_

 

 

 

///

 

 

...”Stopping every minute, just because you're in it, wishing every day was Sunday. You're right next to me, how it's supposed to be...”

 

 

Her wildly off key singing petered off when words began to escape her. They stood, still less than fully clothed but evading full nudity, swaying gently in time to the music wafting from a little ancient looking radio Bill had flicked on when his gut had finally digested all he had eaten and he found it in himself to move.

 

 

_“Dance with me,”_ he'd pleaded of her. She'd been unable to say no, so there they stood. They'd swayed aimlessly for a while, she resting her face in the crook of his neck, everything else fading and fuzzing over. One song gave way to another repeatedly, the faint strains of Kelly Clarkson and Vince Gill's voices blending together in _Don't Rush_ being what cleared her brain of fog.

 

 

“You _know_ this song?” He laughed at her, not having realised she was up on so many current artists.

 

 

“Chelsea's mentioned it a time or two.”

 

 

“Seriously?”

 

 

“Mm, told me once I had to listen because it made her think of us when she first heard it.”

 

 

“She said that?”

 

 

“She's your child, Bill. Fact that shows itself all the time. Sappiness was passed right along.”

 

 

“I guess so.” He ran his hand affectionately along her back, swaying breezily still. “Keep singing.” The song was still playing.

 

 

“Lord, don't encourage that.”

 

 

“Oh, it's just me!”

 

 

“...Hangin' on every touch...” she hummed feebly, uncertain if she had the words right.

 

 

“...Baby, don't rush, Naw. Baby, don't rush...” He finished the chorus line and the song gave way to something else neither knew. They stopped paying mind to it, swayed aimlessly again, neither sure how long they could stay that way, both comforted by the sense of monotony.

 

 

 

///

 

 

He watched her sleeping in the back of the car, sprawled awkwardly but apparently comfortably, next to him. Hair that had been placed to perfection at the beginning of their afternoon was now dishevelled, some strands stuck to her forehead, majority spread wildly over the leather seat where she lay. They'd swayed in the middle of the cabin until neither pair of feet could hold them up then made their way to an empty love seat where she'd fallen into his lap, heavy eyed. Falling asleep was an inevitability for both, but she'd succumbed first.

 

The next time he'd become aware of reality, an agent who'd set up camp in a bordering lodge and had been keeping watch on the perimeters the duration of their stay was next to him, trying to rouse him awake. He'd eventually been successful in his plight, but Hillary was dead to the world.

 

 

“It's really late, sir. Past the time you even requested I come back.” His gaze was sheepish, no doubt slightly unnerved and embarrassed at finding the former President and First Lady in their undergarments. He looked young. Bill laughed internally, knowing that he'd probably witness a lot worse before it got better. He'd learn to be less squeamish eventually. They all did.

 

 

“It's fine.” He rubbed his eyes, trying not to move too suddenly and disturb his wife. “Can you grab me her coat?”

 

“Absolutely.” He did as he was asked, collecting too her discarded gown and pumps strewn near the chair her coat hung on.

 

 

“Thank you.” He took them gratefully, laying the coat flat on his opposite side, placing the shoes on the floor, smoothing the gown remaining in his hands.

 

 

“Hill?”

 

 

Out cold.

 

 

“Hillary..” He shook her gently. “I have to wake you for a minute, I'm sorry. C'mon baby, wake up for me.”

 

 

“Wha...??” Her eyes didn't open, but some form of awareness possessed her.

 

 

 

“We have to go. It's late, we both fell asleep. You don't have anything on. I'm gonna unzip your gown and slip it over your head, okay? It's too cold to go out there with just a coat covering you.”

 

 

“Uh hum.”

 

 

Unzipping the clasp, he tugged her limp form by the arms and situated her into a semi-sitting position, careful not to pull too hard.

 

 

“Here, let me help you.” The agent hung back until he saw that he was needed. The former president was struggling to hold up the Raggedy Ann form of his still sleeping wife and successfully dress her simultaneously. “If you hold her up, I can slip this on.”

 

 

Bill did as instructed, and the younger man succeeded in getting the gown halfway over her head, yanking more forcefully than he'd meant to when something unbeknownst to either of them impeded progress.

 

 

“Ow!” The yelp that left her startled both of them, jolted her quickly awake. “The hell?” Eyes sprang open, Bill noted they were watery. “What happened?”

 

 

“Her hair caught in the teeth of the zipper,” the young agent told him, feeling worse than he wanted to let on. “Mrs. Clinton, I am _so_ sorry.” Carefully, he worked to untangle the twisted strands and extract them from the sharp teeth. A few residual pieces had fallen out of her head in the scuffle and remained between them. He was swift in action of pulling them out. Noted too, no teeth were broken. The gown would still properly zip, a fact for which he was glad.

 

 

“Well, your techniques to wake me are cleverer than that of my husband, you're new on the job and already witnessed me close to complete nudity, you may as well just call me Hillary.”

 

 

Blush crept into his cheeks and she smiled mischievously, Bill stifling a laugh next to her. “Okay,” he choked weakly, glancing between the couple. “Hillary,” it felt weird on his tongue. “I'm sorry.”

 

 

“You're forgiven,” she winked.

 

 

“Let's you finish getting dressed, yeah?”

 

 

 

“I'm awake enough now I can do it myself.”  
  
  
“Are you sure? I can help you, carry you to the car if I have to.”

 

 

“Oh Bill, I'm not a child. I can walk.”

 

 

Getting her bearings she stood up, dress halfway on, collected her coat on one arm, shoes in the opposing hand and made her way to the bathroom to compose herself.

 

 

“Myself and a few other agents will stay behind to tidy and lock up, sir. The same two who drove you here will take you back.”

 

 

“Perfect, thank you.” He shook his hand.

 

 

///

 

 

“Hmm. Bill?” Eyes fluttered open and he turned his head, blue locking with blue.

 

 

“Yeah?”

 

 

“How long have I been out?” She shuffled, sitting up, straightening in the seat. Hands flew up to haphazardly flatten her hair.

 

 

“I'm not sure,” he mused. “A little while. You fell back asleep pretty soon after walking out to the car for the drive home.”

 

 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” She cleared her throat, ridding it of the thick, watery feeling.

 

 

“You don't need to apologise. You deserve all the shut-eye you can get.”

 

 

A long sigh escaped her.

 

 

“I really appreciate you bringing me this far out of the way just for a couple stolen moments together.”

 

 

“I'm happy I could.”

 

 

It had been as much for himself as for her. They both loved Chappaqua, their house, but there would always be moments each of them needed to retreat, to be secluded, away from the hustle and bustle of the world and everyone all too aware of exactly who they were.

 

 

“Thank you. Again.”

 

 

“My pleasure.”

 

 

Sidling closer to him, she took his hand, twisting their fingers together. He brought the joined fleshes to his mouth, kissed each of her knuckles in turn before letting their hands fall limp again. “You know I always want to see you happy.”

 

 

“I am happy.”

 

 

///

 

Feeling the springs give under her weight, he knew she must have woken to relieve herself and come back. Unsure of what time it was, he didn't have energy enough to check. All he was aware of was her small frame cuddling close to him, lower extremities sprawled over his, the two of them morphing into a tangled lace of arms and legs. Turning to face her, he propped himself up.

 

 

“Hey,” he said gruffly.

 

 

“Hey yourself,” she shot back.

 

 

“The hell you doin' awake now?”

 

 

 

“Had to pee.”

 

 

He'd been right.

 

 

“Feel better now?”

 

 

“Marginally.”

 

 

She found his lips, and a familiar dance of give and take ensued between them. Her mouth on his, teeth grazing lips, strong hands in thin locks of hair. It was all too familiar and exhilaratingly new at the same time.

 

 

“I don't want you to leave,” he choked out between kisses, breathless from exertion.

 

 

“Prove it.” She took control and flipped their position, her weight pinning him, smirking down into his gaze.

 

 

“Right now?” Running hands underneath her nightgown, they snaked the scale of her back methodically. “You're not gonna get much sleep.”

 

 

“I've had less. Merkel will be there tomorrow, she can keep me awake,” she reasoned, referencing presiding German Chancellor Angela Merkel. “I have mere hours left with you for God knows how long, and I don't want to waste them.”

 

 

He didn't either, but he liked how she got when he didn't give in so easily.

 

 

“I want _you,”_ she purred huskily, bent close to his ear.

 

 

Those three words were always and forever all he needed.

 

Not more than milliseconds slipped by before he was making to slip her nightgown over her head.

 

“Baby?” He balled it up, tossed it to the floor.

 

 

“What?”

 

 

“Don't rush.”

 

 

Eyes full of mischief and sparkle, he didn't think he could love her more.

 

 

“You're damn right I won't,” he growled.

 

 

It was on. This succulent assault would last as long as life permitted.

 

 

 

He wished every day was Sunday.

 

 

-FIN

 

 


End file.
